Reality: Is it heaven or is it hell?

It has now been over two months since I have started my blog and I still haven't written anything of significance! I've been looking forward to writing beauiful inspiring prose: thoughts that take one to greater heights and mental fields of color and light. I suppose I've been looking forward to impressing you and myself with my amazing ability of putting things into words. Somehow I have only succeeded in discovering that I haven't been having the most poetic of thoughts lately. I really am sorry. I honestly haven't meant to depress you!

  I did make the promise to myself that in creating this blog I was giving myself the freedom to say whatever I wanted or needed to say. However, I went back over what I've written up until now and frankly, it's nothing to inspiring! It all seems so; simple. Just the musings of a crazy girl living in a crazy world. Nothing to imaginative besides that she's trying to figure out the world with a brain that has a mind of its own. How different is that from anyone else's though? I believe that there are very very few people out there who don't have a mind that isn't seriously warped in some way shape or form. Oh, it may not appear to large or significant but, we still have all been born in a world of sin and none of us can come out unscathed. I know, it sounds morbid. Almost as if I have this desire for people to be messed up. But hey, you can't blame me! For one, it is accurate and second; if you had something wrong with you, would you enjoy the idea of being the only person who wasn't perfect?

Didn't think so...

Take for example Edmond. I swear the guy has never had a truly BAD day in his life! Except, who is to define bad? Only the person who has had a loved one murdered in front of them? Or come to discover that they are about to loose everything they own and have a terminal illness? Perhaps one who wakes up to the realization that their life has become worthless and will be hunted down and killed? Who is to determine?

"Me"; something inside of me whispers. 

"Wasn't I the one who woke up to find myself in a world where I was deemed worthless? My purpose to stay and watch those I loved hunt me down, commit murder: to watch & allow My arch enemy to rejoice as illness ravaged My children for thousands of years to come? Isn't it I who took all of these things on Me so that I could experience every facat of suffering that you might be afflicted with?"

It is true, only my Savior has the right to truly determine what a "bad" day is. In my selfishness though, I wish at times I could inflict others with what I term my "bad" days. It is hard for me to be content with my Savior's suffering on my behalf. I guess I feel that it is two different things having God understand me and another person understand me. All though, goodness, of course it is. And really, God hasn't designed it to be any differently. I just wish at times that I could know of a certainty that someone else truly knows what I'm talking about and that they really can understand what I'm feeling. 

Ok, so where is all of this stemming from? 

Well, I'm having a really hard time grappling with the knowledge that Edmond's life hasn't been seriously screwed up! I have this sense, perhaps just fear at times, that he really doesn't know what it's like to feel deep heart wrenching pain. To feel that at times you don't have a soul on earth you can trust. To have mornings where it takes all the will power you can summon to just get out of bed, both physically and emotionally. How is he to relate to someone who has barely any respect for their mother when he has a superb one with his own? He was raised with traditions, vacations, meals around the table at night, living in the same house for over FIFTEEN YEARS!! 

  While I? I don't have one tradition to speak of! Unless you count my family's having the unique ability of never living anywhere longer then three and half years... But, vacations? None existent: unless you count our camping trips that were mostly more stress then actual vacation. 

  As for meals around the table? Those haven't happened for years and when they do now it is only because my sister and I put them together. Even then, it's a work of persuasion to get everyone to stay put the whole time. I think the only time that we've ever had a meal together at home that my mom was the initiative for was before I was eight. I don't remember a time after. It may have happened afterwards but, most times when meals are put together for the family Dad takes his meal back to the computer. Then it's only us girls at the table and my sister and I don't exactly enjoy just sitting quiet with mom so, we go do other things as well. I really don't know what it's like to have relaxed family meals. 
  Now, as to living in the same house for fifteen years? That is a phenomenon I doubt I shall ever have the luxury of being able to relate to. I wouldn't know where the hell to even begin trying to determine where I grew up! Minnesota? No. Perhaps Washington; considering I've lived there now over four different times. Or, maybe we should bring in the other half dozen states I've lived in? I've moved so bloody much that I haven't a clue where I belong or to whom at times! 

  Ok hell, can you tell I'm scared? I'm scared that I'm to messed up for him. Or perhaps, that he isn't messed up enough! That he has had such a perceived "perfect" life that when it will come down to really relating to me he won't have a clue how. Who am I trying to fool?! I'm screwed up, dysfunctional and weird. It wouldn't be so bad if I had at least a semi normal family but, I have a mother that's an embarrassment to me. A father who's brilliant but, emotionally avoidant. (Though he wouldn't admit it or no where to even start understanding that) A sister who is beautiful, smart, and talented but, she herself doesn't know how to understand me nor the inner workings of our family. Honestly, I would be fine if it were just my father and sister but, when it comes to my mother I want to bury my head in shame.

 That's horrible I know. I should be ashamed of myself for even having such thoughts. After spending time with Paul's family though I am dreading the thought of ever having to introduce my mother to his. His mother is so beautiful. She has fashion and culture. She has a career and friends. She can throw big beautiful parties and prepare family meals. My mother? What can she do?! Oh, she looks young but, she isn't really that amazing looking. As to fashion or culture, she barely understands or is willing to recognize its importance! Her career has consisted of being a wife and mother both of which she has tried hard to do well but, has barely managed that!

  I'm sorry but, I just can't keep this in! How the hell do these things happen?! And how did I manage to attract a guy who comes from an apparently less dysfunctional home then I? Before I couldn't understand why other's would find it hard to accept the love of someone who didn't have the same type of background as their own. I thought, "Who cares. It's just crap. Everyone has it, you forgive and forget. Doesn't matter if the other person doesn't have it in theirs". Ha. Now I know exactly what they where feeling: Inadequate. Almost as if you are coming from another planet and now you're expected to just forget and move on. It doesn't work that way! Plus, how is one to truly connect with another if they can't relate or begin to understand the significance of such a heritage? 

  It's so disgusting because, at times I feel like I come from a pretty normal family. Well, pretty normally messed up. I have it really good; there's no physical or sexual abuse and both of my parents love me with all of their hearts. I myself haven't been abused, neglected or abandoned so, what is really wrong? So, I try to convince myself that there isn't. Heck, compared to alot of the families I've seen from the camp I worked at and other places my family really is pretty healthy. Then along comes someone like Edmond and all of my nice little notions and perceptions are kicked away. And now all I'm left with is a stark reality of what I haven't had, what I don't have, and what I need. Combined with the sneaking suspicion that he really hasn't the faintest clue.

So I ask again:

What the hell am I doing?!